


the sun will set to rise

by protoagaz



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protoagaz/pseuds/protoagaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuraiya Bascùd is 16, on the trail of the pirate known as General Gasparde, and he finds himself at a crossroads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun will set to rise

The gun weighed heavy in Shuraiya's pocket, bouncing fitfully against his thigh as he walked into the tavern. It was an unfamiliar sense of responsibility, something he wasn't used to after four years of fighting with his wits alone; but at the same time the very atmosphere of the small seaside town had made him snatch the gun from a sleeping drunk at the docks. It felt necessary, as much as it made him afraid of his own power.

The tavern was crowded, a large single room brimming with a sense of careless habit. Shadows of human shape filled each corner, some of them holding slimmer giggling figures on their laps, others still enough to be mistaken for statues of wax. Lamps hung on the walls at odd angles, spilling circles of warm light over stained tables, tattered chairs and a dark wood floor.

Some heads turned to follow Shuraiya's progress toward the bar, and he slipped more confidence into his stride, silently thanking the dim lamplight and the hair he'd grown long enough to hide the features that betrayed his youth. At the same time, the knowledge that such a tavern would get him drunk whether he was a child or not made him smirk, almost unconsciously.

He slid onto an empty barstool, next to a fair-haired man who shot a glance of contempt at him over wide-framed glasses. Shuraiya ignored the judgement heavy in the man's eyes - it was a look he'd seen time and again since he left Elena, one that held no impact for him any longer. Studying the stains left behind on the furrowed wood of the bar, he waited for the barkeep to notice his presence.

Eventually the man did, and made his way over with a weary saunter. "What'll it be?"

"Just some information, if you're willing." Shuraiya kept his voice low, risking a glance at the fair-haired man to see him ostentatiously feigning disinterest.

The barkeep sighed. "This bar doesn't give out information for free."

It was a transaction that Shuraiya had gone through just as often as he'd seen condescension in the faces of people with normal lives and normal families. He sighed himself, almost unconsciously, fished from another pocket as many coins as he could afford, and tossed them across the bar.

Carefully the barkeep counted them, and kept them clenched in a meaty fist to eye Shuraiya with open suspicion. "You a bounty hunter?"

No matter the times he'd heard the question, it dredged up old memories of decisions made and battles fought. Shuraiya pushed his concentration past the mental images and nodded. "I'm on the trail of General Gasparde, and I've been led to believe he's in town." Sick anticipation swelled in his stomach, making him cut off the rest of the words he'd planned in lieu of silence and an implied question.

For a moment the barkeep stared at him, as the fair-haired man shook his head vaguely and stood to leave. Shuraiya kept his gaze fixed on the barkeep's, heartbeat pounding in his throat with little jolts of pain, faintly hearing low laughter and conversation continue behind his back.

Then the barkeep laughed, a loud bray that drowned out the sounds. "You're in luck, brat," he chortled. "The General just left. Looks like you'll be keeping your life for now. And I'll be keeping this money, thanks."

He moved on, still chuckling, and Shuraiya found himself staring at the glinting shelf of bottles along the back wall. His heart still raced, sweat stinging the back of his neck, leaden acid in the pit of his stomach. The barkeep's words sank slowly into his mind like rocks into a swamp, and with them went the dull, colorless, far too familiar weight of despair.

Eventually he stood and left the bar, no longer even trying to walk with any confidence, feeling no eyes watch him go. The town outside was still quiet, houses dark and streets empty of movement, the only illumination in the pool of lamplight cast onto the tavern's porch by a single light in its front window.

Shuraiya stood on the porch, leaned against the railing, heard the barkeep's words echoing in his head like a sadistic song. The irony drowned him - the irony of missing Gasparde by hours on this island, the first time he'd come remotely catching up. He was always doomed to run, in the ceaseless futile effort to make up for miles lost to the pain of wounds and foolish training, and the realization hit him with far more impact than he'd ever expected.

He'd drawn the gun from his pocket before he even felt its cold smooth metal against his fingers, and then its barrel rested against his temple and he stared into the night and wondered. The thought of what a single bullet could do to him no longer turned his stomach as it once had. Now it was the thought of chasing Gasparde without success, the thought of wasting a worthless life, when death could be infinitely kinder.

He closed his eyes.

"Oi, oi, what're you doing?"

The voice came out from the darkness to his left, and nearly made him jump for all that it was low and level. He lowered the gun, turned to see a dark figure: a tall man, dressed in something black, the faint glow from the tavern doorway doing nothing to show his features.

Angry words choked in Shuraiya's throat, and the emotion was a shock all its own, bringing back to his senses the feel of the faint warm breeze and the scent of the sea air nearby. He gritted his teeth against the threat of tears, and even as he did, the man took another step closer.

"Saw you paying the barkeep," the man said. "You hunting someone?"

Shuraiya found his voice almost unexpectedly, in a harsh tone that he regretted as soon as it hit the air. "What business is it of yours?"

"There we go." The man laughed softly. "If you'd really wanted to use that thing, you'd be telling me everything now. Keeping your secrets safe is the mark of wanting to live, huh?"

Vaguely Shuraiya felt the gun trembling in his hand. He wanted to cry, would have if he hadn't sworn to never shed another tear; regulating his breathing was barely enough to keep his thoughts in check.

"Y'know, I've been in your shoes." The man turned to look out at the sleeping town, his profile cast in an indistinct blur. "Wondering if I had it in me to keep living...if I even had the right to keep living." He shrugged. "I still don't know, to be honest. But I got goals, and I'm not letting go of life till I've reached them."

He stepped forward, and raised a hand to take the gun from Shuraiya's grasp and place it on the porch railing. For an instant his features, oddly familiar, were within the lamplight's circle - black hair, level eyes under firm dark brows, a long nose bordered with splashes of peppery freckles on both his cheeks. Then he donned a wide-brimmed hat and shadow returned.

"Do that yourself, huh?" the man said. "Don't go letting your goals get away just because it's tough to reach them."

Shuraiya's mind raced for an answer, even as the man turned and began to walk away. The words rang true in him, and at the same time his body shook, a trembling beyond his control.

"Oh, and..." The man paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "You might want to check out the Dead End Race."

Then he was gone.


End file.
